


Morning Star

by midnightweeds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Denial, F/M, Family, Friendship, Hopeful Ending, Love, Minor Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Portraits, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Pregnancy, Redemption, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-12-31 08:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12128328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightweeds/pseuds/midnightweeds
Summary: “--agree to come to dinner with me.”Hermione rolled her eyes. “I know it’s been some time since I last brought it up-”“Here we go-”“-but I do feel as though you’ve such a thick skull it’s possible that you need constant reminder, because you may have somehow forgotten-”“-you think you’d be more grateful toward the person who slips you information altruistically-”“-which I imagine is quite easy to do, when you are surround by so many people, day in and day out-”“-however, I hear this is why Merlin requested retirement-”“Are you comparing yourself to Merlin, Draco? Really?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a one-shot written for cece2046 and originally posted on my tumblr. It's quite long, but I thought it deserved a place here, too, so I've broken it up.
> 
> Updated every Monday for the next few weeks.

“Draco,” Hermione greeted, glancing at him before looking down at the post stacked in her inbox.

He waited as she checked in with her assistant, patient as ever and content to appreciate the view of her bum in her plum color skirt as he waited. He’d taken to dropping by in the afternoon, when he knew she’d be out of her robes, half warn out from by the Minister and his never-ending shit storm. She was easier on him then, and receptive of the mindless banter he looked forward to.

When she clutched her mail to her chest, he lifted an apple from the fruit bowl he was next to and tossed it into the air, waiting for her to turn toward him before smirking.

 “Don’t you have anything else to do?” She questioned, unknowingly telling him what type of mood she was in. In what was obviously playful exhaustion, she asked, “Do you _have_ to hang around here this afternoon?”

“This is certainly the highlight of what is a very drab existence, Granger,” he told her, putting the apple back down. He observed his nails as she said, “But, I sat in on a few meetings this morning, and I’m here on business, I’m afraid.”

She eyed him disbelievingly, leaning on Laurel’s desk. “Uh huh,” she drew her hand over her hair, twisting a loose curl back into her bun.

“Haven’t I always delivered?”

“Someone certainly does,” she commented, and he laughed as Laurel snorted. “It’s just unbelievable to me that they continue to allow you to waltz around here unchecked.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an equal opportunity haunt.”

She laughed, pushing off the desk as she shook her head, and Draco smiled as though he was immensely pleased with himself.

“Conference room?” He questioned.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I’ll meet you there,” she told him, disappearing into her office.

After putting her mail on her desk, Hermione accepted some parchment and a self-inking quill from her assistant, ignoring her comment that she was wasting ‘valuable time.’ It wasn’t a new reminder. It was years old, even.

Draco was already comfortably seated when she walked in, watching as she chose a seat half down the conference table. “I asked for a tea service.”

“Thank you.”

“Long morning with the Minister?”

“He’s an increasingly problematic man,” she commented, rolling her neck as she sat back in her seat. “But, I’m sure you know all about that.”

Draco laughed, his grey eyes focused intensely on her. “He’s at odds with the German Minister,” he said, listening to her soft groan of exhaustion. “It’s about reprimands. You’ll have quite a bit to do next week, with Gringotts and the MLE. I believe you meet with my father the following week, about the January campaign.”

She crossed her legs, leaning to one side of her chair as she looked at him. “If I don’t transfer to Accidents and Catastrophes before then.”

Draco smirked.

“Working on some Muggle-Worthy Excuses sounds like a fitting vacation from this.”

“Looking to cause an international incident?” He questioned, and they both laughed. “I support you taking some time for yourself, though. You deserve it.”

Hermione smiled, rolling closer to the table to scribble out some notes in ancient runes. “Easier said than done.”

“You look quite beautiful today,” he told her, leaning closer. “You know how much I love when you wear turtlenecks and your hair like this.”

“Draco,” she sighed, her exasperated tone familiar to them both.

Their eyes met and he offered a small smile, sadness etched onto his face, and Hermione chose not to say anything else.

“I’ve so few pleasures these days.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

He laughed. “Few I’m passionate about, then.”

She looked down at her notes. “I’d prefer to hear more about the information you provide other offices.”

“You know my heart lives in Crisis Management, Granger,” he told her. When her eyes snapped up to his, he waved his hand thoughtlessly. “Blaise is the only person I speak off the record with, in this way, at least. The only difference is that he pays me.”

Her brows rose at the disclosure. She’d assumed he and Blaise still saw each other, but she hadn’t realized it was for business. “Is he your errand boy, then?”

Draco smiled, eyes appraising. Whenever he offered information like that, it meant the rules were changing. She wasn’t sure what it meant that he was allowing her to know who took care of his day-to-day errands, especially considering it was someone as high profile as Zabini.

“Others, like McLaggen, for example, are satisfied with news of which heels you’re wearing for the day.”

“I can lead Crisis Management into the twenty-first century, and all it boils down to is how good a pair of heels makes my arse look.” She frowned, writing ‘Cormac’ on her parchment and circling it boldly. “It’s astonishing that men have made it this far in evolution.”

“If it makes you feel better, he’s more of a leg man, and concerned about how much of your calves he’ll be able to see if he stops by.”

“I’d feel better if you weren’t passing wardrobe notes to McLaggen.”

“I do have some moral repulsion to this; aside from the sheer laziness of it all, considering that he works on the same floor as you. The problem, of course, is that I get quite a bit of information out of McLaggen for something as small as ‘ _yes, she’s wearing that nouveau French pair and a tea skirt_.’”

“Shame I can’t file a sexual misconduct suit against a-”

“I could, however, be swayed to provide him with misinformation every now and again, Granger.”

“Oh really?”

“Should you agree to come to dinner with me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I know it’s been some time since I last brought it up-”

“Here we go-”

“-but I do feel as though you’ve such a thick skull it’s possible that you need constant reminder, because you may have somehow forgotten-”

“-you think you’d be more grateful toward the person who slips you information altruistically-”

“-which I imagine is quite easy to do, when you are surrounded by so many people, day in and day out-”

“-however, I hear this is why Merlin requested retirement-”

“Are you comparing yourself to Merlin, Draco? Really?”

He got up, rounding the desk and leaning on the corner. As always, he looked quite handsome, his blond hair tied away from his face and suit jacket unbuttoned. He’d chosen a turtleneck as well, the black cashmere creeping up the pale of his throat in a familiar and timeless look that no one had ever mastered so effortlessly.

“Name another sentient.”

She swallowed. They were few and far between, and often proven to be fakes through examination.

“You’re dead, Draco. Portraits don’t eat.”

* * *

There was hibiscus in her office after their meeting, and McLaggen sent his Friday update via interdepartmental memo, the same he way did whenever she wore flats and wide-leg trousers to work. Hermione shrunk her bags to fit in the palm of hand and hoisted the arrangement on her hip, leaving her office later than usual.

She kicked her pumps off at the door when she got home to her flat, resizing her bags and vanishing them to her home office before setting the vase in her kitchen window. As she ate dinner, Hermione observed them, lingering over the fact that it was Blaise who made sure she continued to get beautiful arrangements even after Draco’s death. She’d assumed it’d been her assistant helping him, and wondered what it meant now that she knew the true source.

That it was someone she interacted with relatively regularly. That not one of their shared friends had even _breathed_ the truth to her.

But, it wasn’t until she wandered into her bedroom, buzzed off a few glasses of wine, that she fully understood how the rules to their estranged relationship had changed.

There was a large Gucci bag on her bed, a pair of shoes she’d gushed about to Ginny over dinner at her house a few weeks earlier. The note was typed in a script she’d come to connect to all of Draco’s correspondence, signed or not, because it mimicked his handwriting almost to a T.

 _Small pleasures_ , the note read. _You deserve them more than anyone._

She understood, yeah. And she cried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny’s eyes were big and curious when Hermione looked back at her.
> 
> “Neither of us could see ourselves married to anyone. We both wanted kids,” Hermione shrugged. “It…it was a joke, but it wasn’t completely irrational.”
> 
> “I remember,” Ginny told her after a moment of shared silence. “It wasn’t a joke.”

“Dinner?” Draco asked her while he shuffled papers around on his desk.

Hermione couldn’t imagine there was anything of value on those pages, especially considering he seemed to remember  _everything_  since his death, regardless of whether it was something he’d been told or heard in passing, and he never even wrote anything down, but she liked that he carried them around as though they meant something.

They reminded of her of stopping by his Hogwarts office for night caps; that he was a harder worker than even she was; that he’d been real and they’d been real. Even if they couldn’t be now. Even if they never reallyhad been anything more than friends then, too.

“What are you going to do when I agree?” She asked, kicking her feet up onto the edge of the conference room table.

“I appreciate you saying ‘when,’ not ‘if,’” he told her coolly, shoving the papers into his briefcase. As he got and leaned against the side of the painting, he said, “But, to answer your question, despite how obvious it is, Granger; when you finally put me out of my misery, I’ll take you to dinner.”

She smiled, a soft quirk of her lips that left Draco’s eyes lingering for longer than appropriate, portrait or not, and Hermione wondered if she would ever go with him. It would be more heartbreaking than it was anything else, if she were being honest.

“I take it Blaise would show up carrying a six foot five tall canvas painted to match the restaurant, and you’d push food around on your plate while swirling a glass of wine until I finished eating.”

Draco grinned, his eyes dancing.

“And then he’d help me carry you to my house-”

“My,” he crossed his arms over his chest. “I like where this is going, Granger. You’ve never invited me home, since.”

She laughed, waving her wand over her bag before shoving her wand into her bun. As her papers sorted and packed themselves, she summoned her cloak and shrugged it over her shoulders. “I’ve a feeling you’d never leave if I did.”

He smiled, not denying her statement, and Hermione rolled her eyes as she shrunk her bags. When she turned to look out of her office window, he asked, “Would that be so bad?”

And Hermione wasn’t sure how she was supposed to answer that. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to. Because, if she was being honest with herself, it  _wouldn’t_  have been so bad. And they both knew it. But he was a portrait, sentient or not, and she couldn’t allow herself to get any more caught up in him than she already was. Not when she wanted children one day, and those came with husbands and obligations and things she couldn’t manage with portrait Draco lingering around anyplace other than work.

Because even that was hard enough.

“Draco,” she murmured, but he was gone when she turned to face him.

* * *

There was perfume waiting for her when she got home.

It smelt like jasmine, but it was different from the light, barely there scent he knew she loved. Instead, it warm and blooming and sun drenched in too humid air, and there was an underlying scent of something endless and familiar she couldn’t quite place, but it reminded her of standing next Draco at Ginny and Blaise’s engagement party, joking about how she didn’t think that was how they’d meet again.

He’d leaned in and said something she couldn’t remember, grey eyes glittering in the Italian moonlight, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t known from that moment that Draco Malfoy was someone she’d wasted time not bothering to know before. They’d wasted a lot of time after that, too.

Despite herself, she sprayed it on her pillow before going to bed, and she dreamt of what could been, which was only ruined by the way Lucius Malfoy jerked away from her when she’d leaned in to hug him the next morning. As though they hadn’t been on friendly terms since before Draco died. As though she hadn’t been consulting with his company for longer.

“Draco,” he breathed, blue eyes wide, as though he was looking at him; and then he turned and fled before the meeting even started.

* * *

“Do you remember when Blaise joked that Draco and I should have a kid?” 

Ginny, who’d been just about to recork the wine they’d been drinking, vanished the obnoxious, diamond stopper and topped both of their glasses off with the remainder of the bottle.

“I’ve no idea what you’re about to tell me,” Ginny muttered, glancing at where Blaise was working in the sun room.

Hermione followed her gaze and could see white paint on his cheek as he leaned over and drew his paint covered hands over the canvas, bare feet on what was left of the blank space. He was talking, laughing humoredly, and she imagined that Draco had found his way over to their house.

“Nothing,” Hermione reached for her glass. She held a mouthful in the swells of her cheeks for a moment before saying, “Nothing, I was just remembering, I guess.”

“What made you think about it?”

She looked back at Blaise, who was now standing up straight and frowning at something Hermione couldn’t see, but assumed was the portrait Draco had found his way to. “I don’t know. I…I’ve just been thinking about him more than normal lately. Thinking about what could have been.”

Ginny’s eyes were big and curious when Hermione looked back at her.

“Neither of us could see ourselves married to anyone. We both wanted kids,” Hermione shrugged. “It…it was a joke, but it wasn’t completely irrational.”

“I remember,” Ginny told her after a moment of shared silence. “It wasn’t a joke.”

Hermione coughed, setting down her wine.

“Shortly after that suggestion, Draco started predicting his death. Remember?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Hermione breathed.

“Blaise told me he’d been talking about it for years before. He knew exactly what would happen, but the timing always changed. The Black’s, they…I mean, they aren’t all named after stars for _fun_ ,” Ginny gave a weak laugh, running her fingers through her short bob.

“What are you talking about?”

Ginny groaned. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you,” she said suddenly. “Fucking Draco!” She called, voice directed toward the sun room.

Hermione looked over to see Blaise stand up straight, looking into the sitting room.

But, Ginny didn’t bother glancing in his direction. Instead, she took a big sip of wine and said, “Most the time I’m surprised I married a Slytherin, and  _Zabini_  out of all of them. I wake up in the middle of the night and look over and I’m like,” she laughed, eyes meeting Hermione’s. Despite the surprise, Ginny was very much in love. It shined in her eyes and smile. “And even more surprising, is that I consider the ghost of Draco my  _friend_ , and I’d say I love him like no other, but I’ve you and Blaise to contest with.”

“I don’t-” Hermione stopped herself from saying anything she didn’t mean. Even if she wasn’t sure she even meant it.

“He knew he was going to die, and just like his mother she knew she was going to die. And, as the last Malfoy, he understood his role.”

“Lucius is still very much alive.”

Ginny waved her hand, staring at the table. “Fucking  _Draco_ ,” she muttered, propping her elbows on the table. “What have you two been doing for the last three years?”

“Should we have been doing something, Ginny?”

“He knows it’s all time sensitive. He’s dragging his feet because it should have happened when he was alive. He should have had this conversation with you.”

“Well, he was always a coward.”

Ginny barked out a laugh. “Those men love once. Big, grand, from the way I understand it. They love the woman they have a child with, and that’s that. It sounds suspect to me, but Blaise only shrugged when I mentioned it. The point is, Mr. Malfoy isn’t having any more children.

“Their line has ended. Naturally speaking.”

 Hermione watched her friend, trying to wrap her drunken mind around the depth of Ginny’s words.

“But, Draco knew. And he took steps to…If you’re interested,” Ginny shifted, uncomfortable in a way Hermione hadn’t seen her in years. “The Muggles, you know," she gestured airily. "Should you be interested in the joke,” she tried again.

If she ever finished her statement, Hermione didn’t hear her past the ringing in her ears.


	3. Chapter 3

“-under the impression that you and I had been closer than that.” Hermione wiped her face of her tears and refolded her arms. “And if we hadn’t been-”

“We were, Hermione,” Draco cut in, watching her carefully. “We _are_.”

She ignored him “If we hadn’t been,” she repeated, “I would think that you would have said something before _now_. Before Ginny had to be the one to tell me, when I’m continuing to come to terms with _this_.”

Hermione took a moment to gesture between herself and the portrait, and felt reality set in. There was nothing normal or natural about him showing up every day. About the way his portrait cared for and sent gifts to her through their friends. About the way she looked forward to and desired _more_ with him.

The lines she’d thought she’d drawn didn’t exist.

“I’m sorry she was the one to tell you. And I’m sorry that I was too much of a coward to say anything when Blaise joked about us having a child. That I still couldn’t do it- that I still _can’t_ , Hermione.”

“The other day, when you gave me the perfume-”

“You got that?” He questioned, surprise in his voice. For a moment, he paced back and forth, but he stopped at quickly as he’d started, looking at her intently. “You hadn’t mentioned it.”

“Was I not supposed to?” She shifted. “To receive it, I mean.”

“No,” he told her surely. “This is not the way it should have happened- if it was going to happen.”

“It’s just perfume, Draco,” she told him, slightly offended, but even as she said it, she understood it wasn’t the truth. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s a mark,” he told her plainly.

“You’ve given me perfume before.”

“Not like this one. This one was for only if you agreed-”

“I would have,” she told him, the words seeming to fall out of her mouth. “I would have done anything for you, Draco.”

He looked pained, half turning away from her for moment. When he faced her again, he seemed resolved.

“Your father recognized it,” she told him. “I wore it to a board meeting and he left before it even started.”

“I never told him what I was doing. He probably thought-”

“Thought what, Draco?”

“That we were hiding something from him. It explains why he’s been distant with me.”

“You’re a portrait,” she said, half wincing at the viciousness in her voice. Softer, she said, “You’re a portrait, Draco. The relationship we all have with you…it isn’t right. Perhaps he realized.”

“No. If you wore the perfume, he recognized it for what it was. And assumed we’ve been hiding the truth. I’m sorry if that’s affected your work,” he started, but shook his head of the thought.

“And, anyway, Granger, I’m _sentient_. There is a difference.”

“That doesn’t make any of this, okay, though.” Her fingers gripped the edge of her desk. “A mark, you said?”

“If you’d agreed, I would have given you the perfume.”

“If I’d agreed to what?”

“I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to agree. Not because,” he took a deep, shuttering breath in. “I would love to see you get married. To have children. To come to work happy because you have a husband who loves you- that you can feel love you.”

“What does that mean?” She already knew. She needed to hear it from him, but Hermione understood that it’d never been a joke and they’d always been meant to get here. Somehow. Her chest felt empty over the fact that this was the way it was happening.

“I will do whatever is in my power for you, Hermione. I…I hope that I have proven that. Both in our time together when I was a live and now. I will do whatever is in my power, but I will not do anything that’ll stop you from living a full and beautiful life, Granger.”

“Why didn’t you say anything, Draco?” Hermione felt her ears ringing as clearly as she heard them, barely able to hear her own voice. “Why didn’t you just _tell_ me?”

“Because I didn’t want to _hurt_ you, Granger. Not anymore than had to, at least.”

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” she told him, voice quiet in the silence of her office.

His eyes widened, body stiffening as though he couldn’t bare it. “Please, don’t.” he swallowed thickly. “Please don’t do that.”

“Why?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, cool eyes heavy on her.

“Fucking _why_ , Draco? Why shouldn’t I stop this? When it does nothing but hurt?”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

And then Hermione was alone in her office, staring at the empty painting.

 

* * *

 

“Why _haven’t_ you agreed to go to dinner with him?” Blaise questioned, eyes narrowed as he crossed his legs in her direction. 

“Because she hasn’t _lost the plot_ , Zabini. Unlike you lot,” Ron looked them all over bitterly for a moment, before going back to whatever he was very diligently working on. “Trying to stick her with a _portrait_.”

“No one is trying to stick her with a portrait, Ron,” Harry frowned, setting his quill in the spine of his book. “We just want what’s best for you, Hermione.”

“A portrait,” Ron specified.

“You know it’s more than that,” Ginny said, as though reminding them of something Hermione wasn’t privy to. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

Blaise offered his wife a soft gaze before looking back at Hermione. “So?”

“How the hell am I supposed to go to dinner with a portrait?” She questioned. “Rhetorical,” she told him as he poised his mouth to reply. “I’m not going to dinner with a portrait. I’m not going to _see_ Draco, unless it has to do with work.”

“That’s a mistake,” Ron told her.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours,” Ron, Harry, and Ginny said.

Blaise smirked when she looked back at him.

“What are you all doing, anyway? Why are you all so busy?”

“We’re always busy,” Blaise waved his hand. “They love you, and I love you both-”

“I love you both,” Ginny cut in.

“We’re working on it.”

“On _what_?”

“He knew he was going to die,” Blaise explained. “He’s always known. He’d avoided anything that would tie him to anyone because he didn’t want to hurt them- and then you showed up.”

“I’ve always been here.”

Blaise smiled, warm and handsome, his dark eyes sparkling under the light of Grimmauld Place’s library. “Thankfully,” he commented. “That’s why things are working out the way they have been.”

She glanced around the table before saying, “I have no idea what you all are talking about.” She reached for her teacup and took a sip coolly, attempting to level her head. “And, anyway, Draco told me he isn’t interested. He wants me to get married to someone I can ‘feel.’”

“Agree to dinner,” Harry blurted out.

Blaise narrowed his eyes at the dark-haired man before Ginny said, “Draco knows you don’t want to marry anybody, Hermione. He’s just…. deluding himself. Elongating the process.”

“Reasonably,” Ron cut in. “He needs to be damn sure. And so does she.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Hermione remarked. After a moment, she added, “I haven’t seen him in a week. So, I couldn’t agree to dinner if I wanted to.”

“Tomorrow. 7 o’clock,” Blaise quickly told her. “I’ll pick you up.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, glancing around the table once more.

“You want to,” Ginny commented. “Don’t you?”

“Okay,” she finally said. “Tomorrow.”


	4. Chapter 4

Blaise got to her flat early, stepping through her Floo and into the living room as though it was a normal occurrence.

“Granger,” he greeted, looking her over. His nose twitched just before saying, “Merlin, you smell like Draco.”

“That would be your doing,” she reminded him, half tempted to bring her wrist to her nose to take a breath of the heady perfume.

Fastening her robe over her shoulders, she watched as he pulled a shrunken folder from his pocket and resized it, placing atop her coffee table. It was as thick as her wrist with parchment, bound with red string.

He shrugged, glancing around coolly. “It was slightly nefarious of me, sending it to you. But, the two of you are sickeningly stubborn. And I’m tired, Hermione.”

She had a million questions she wanted to ask, but none of them would form on her tongue. Instead, she gestured to the folder and asked, “What’s that?”

“Do you know what makes a sentient?”

“Not all of us work in the Department of Mysteries, Blaise.”

He smirked. “Right, well,” he checked his watch. “You’ll learn.”

“From that file?”

“To a degree. This is what we’ve been working on since his death.”

“It has to do with Draco and I?”

He brandished a ribbon and gestured for her to turn around. “I’ll take it off as soon as I can, Granger,” he promised, and Hermione bit down her qualms before turning to let him blindfold her.

“If Draco knew he would die, he spent quite a bit of time teaching his portrait about himself. And, being that you were the one who painted him, it’s safe to say you captured him far better than anyone else could.”

“Are you suggesting that sentient portraits are just well learned?”

“I’m sure it has something to do with it,” she told, jumping when he took her hand in his.

Blaise hummed thoughtfully.

“It speaks to the power of the witch or wizard, obviously,” she nervously continued. “But, no. I don’t know what _makes_ a sentient.”

“In some ways, it’s for the best that it’s taken this long for you to agree.”

“What does that have to do with Draco’s portrait?”

There was a smile in Blaise’s voice as he said, “It gave us enough time to sort through the literature rationally.”

Before she could reply, the tug of apparition consumed her, leaving her shivering when they finally landed. “Where are we?” She asked, fingers aching to pull the ribbon from her eyes.

Coldness continued to seep into her, chilling bones even after a warming charm passed over her.

“Division of the DoM. Just a moment and I’ll be able to remove the covering.”

“You can’t apparate into the DoM.”

Blaise sighed, the sound long-suffering as it settled over their shoes clicking down the hall. Haughtily, he said, “I can do what I please, Granger. Thank you,” and Hermione decided to keep quiet until they arrived to wherever it was he was taking her.

They stopped walking after a few minutes, and Blaise pushed open a door that greeted them with a gust of frigid air. As they stepped in, he closed the door behind them and vanished the blindfold. Hermione gripped her robes closer to her, frowning at her companion as he stepped around her.

“Merlin, Blaise. I thought I was agreeing to _dinner._ ”

His brows rose. “And _that’s_ what you’d wear for your first date?”

“He’s a portrait!”

He ran his hand over his head. “Draco is at my house, with Ginevra. We can join them, after; but, no, you were not agreeing to Draco’s long asked for dinner. Have a seat,” he gestured to the small table in the center of the room. As they both got settled, he said, “We have your best interest in mind.”

Hermione drew her arms over her chest, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her robes. “We had to come here for you to explain this?”

“If you truly want nothing to do with Draco, I can make that happen. However, I would ask that you sit for a portrait. Here, I can capture you very close to a sentient. You’re teaching it will improve the portrait’s sensibilities, and Draco could live in peace, with the belief that you’ve moved on to a fulfilled life.”

“I would no longer see him?”

“Only in passing.” He confirmed. “I know it is quite a bit to take in, Hermione. But-”

“You’re tired,” she said, remembering his words from earlier.

“I love you both,” he explained. “But, I cannot continue to watch you both stumble around each other.”

“He’s a painting, Blaise. A _portrait_.”

Blaise hesitated. It was the first time she’d ever seen him nervous.

“I know he’s sentient, so it’s different, but,” she shrugged.

“Some believe that sentience occurs when there is something incredible left for that person to do. For Draco, I would assume that it was asking you to marry him.”

“To _what_?”

“Come now, Granger. Is that so unbelievable? I know you both had hang ups, but marriage, especially knowing he would die, would have ensured you and your children taken care of. Without being ostracized. Even if nothing else changed. It isn’t as though the two of you didn’t love each other.”

At her panicked expression, Blaise gaze softened, and Hermione looked away from him to prevent herself from crying.

“If it’s any consolation, he’s getting an emotional boot camp from Nev, as well.”

It wasn’t any consolation at all.

“If you were to choose him, I promise that it could be incredible.

“We just want the two of you of you to stop dragging your feet. To open your eyes to what could be-”

“Nothing can be, Blaise! Sure, I could try to have his child. But, then what? I’d have to explain to Lucius Malfoy why the future of the Malfoy line is a half-blood. I’d have to explain to the world that I’m having the child of a man who’s been _dead_ for three years.

“And that’s the shit I could deal with, Blaise. That’s _easy_. Having to look at that child and see Draco every day? Having to do it on my own? Having to-”

She didn’t realize he’d gotten up until he was pulling her up and into his chest, warm arms around her surely.

“You can’t promise that anything to do with Draco is going to be incredible because it can’t be _real_ , Blaise. This can’t happen,” she gripped his robes for emphasis, burying her face in his shoulder. “If he was here, if I had that physical support, I wouldn’t question it. But, I _can’t_ do the impossible. Not understanding what it is you all expect of me.”

He rested his chin on her head, rubbing her back soothingly. “I work in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione. I see the impossible get done every day. I _do_ the impossible, and I do not make promises I can’t keep.”

She wiggled out of his hold, rubbing at her face as she sat back down. After a moment, he tugged his chair so he’d be sitting next to her.

Bitterly, she asked, “What do you plan to do, then? Resurrect him? Pull him from the portrait? Use the child to create a corporal version of him?” She laughed, but Blaise didn’t.

He stared at her, his dark eyes imploring her to understand. It was the same look he gave anyone who questioned his work. The same look he gave when they suggested things he couldn’t do, right before he proved-

“No, Blaise. Why would you- why would you bring this all up _now_? When I’ve finally decided to move _on_?”

“Because we don’t have much time. Draco has given up, Hermione. I can’t allow you to move on- not without telling you. Not when we’ve finally figured it out.”

“Who is we?”

“Gin and I. Harry and Ron. Luna and Pansy. Even Lucius has helped, however unknowingly.”

“None of them work for the DoM.”

He shrugged, tapping his wand against his thigh. “We all brought something to the table.”

“What are you saying, Blaise? Are you asking me to live my life for a portrait? To be reliant on you all for all of the support required in raising a _child_? To play house with Lucius?”

“I can bring him back,” he told her, so plainly that Hermione almost missed it. "I just need you to be here for him, truly, when I do.”


	5. Chapter 5

“McLaggen,” Hermione remarked as she pushed his office door open, his assistant hot on her heels.

“I’m sorry, sir. I told her you were in a meeting-”

“It’s quite alright,” Cormac told his assistant. “Granger is always allowed in my office.”

He didn’t wiggle his brows. He didn’t even smirk. But, Hermione felt her skin crawling nonetheless.

“That’s nice,” she told him, feeling his eyes drag over her, lingering just where her skirt fell to reveal the curve of her knees and calves. “However, I’m here because I need to speak with Malfoy. Immediately.”

Cormac frowned, glancing between she and the portrait she’d yet to look at. “What could you possibly have to speak to Malfoy about?”

“The decline of tea in England, McLaggen,” she deadpanned.

When he looked at the portrait, Draco said, “Quite important. I’ve great investment in the business.”

“Five minutes. My office. Thank you,” Hermione turned and left for her office to wait, but Draco was already there when she arrived, leaning coolly on the edge of the new painting Blaise had installed.

He was so close she swore she could touch him, and she resisted brushing her fingers to the canvas as she passed it to sit at her desk.

“Long time no see,” she murmured, crossing her legs as she turned her chair toward him.

“I didn’t want to hurt you any further.”

She glanced down, smoothing her skirt over her knee. “I spoke with Blaise.”

“I see,” he pushed off the edge, moving to stand in the foreground.

She pressed back into her seat. “I wish you’d said something, Draco. When you were alive. I wish I’d said something, too, of course.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her, voice quiet. “I apologize,” he continued, more surely, and she believed him.

“I love you,” she heard herself say, voice strong and purposeful. “I loved you and I love you and I will love you,” she continued, attempting to maintain her sense of self.

Her chest felt light with the admittance, stomach full of dragons and butterflies. Draco was staring at her, his chest raising and falling in a learned behavior. _She’d_ changed the rules this time, and it felt incredible.

“Blaise told me he could paint you a companion,” she continued. He reared back, however slightly, and Hermione quickly said, “He also further explained me having your child.”

“I wouldn’t put you in either of those positions, Hermione. I understand that I have made this difficult-”

“So, you’re willing to let me go? To not give Blaise’s theories a chance?”

“Granger,” Draco started, obviously bewildered.

“Because I can see no harm in it. I’m willing to try- if that’s what you want. If that’s what you’ve spent the last three years trying to ask of me.”

He stared at her, his grey eyes wide and bright.

She got up, standing in front of the painting coolly.

“I didn’t think Blaise would figure out a way to bring me back.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“I’ve tried to think nothing of it. The possibility that it won’t work is too high.”

“He didn’t elaborate on what would happen, if it didn’t work.”

Draco shrugged. “Neither of us know. I’ve conferred with a few other sentient portraits, but they were all content to live like this. It’s…it isn’t dark magic. The DoM is supporting him in this, but there is a possibility that I will be different, should I return. I’ve spent too long beyond the veil.”

She nodded, drawing her arms over her chest. “Do you want to try?”

“Do I want to try?” He chucked, hand passing over his hair. “Forever with you wouldn’t be long enough, Hermione.”

“The portrait’s out, then,” she commented, and they shared a laugh. “Even if I have my whole life to teach it, there is no telling how she’d turn out.” After a moment, she said, “My being pregnant is the safest way to do it.”

“It’s a lot to ask,” he shifted, voice serious. “More than I should, considering.”

“Your father is okay with it.”

“Yes,” Draco quickly told her. “I’ve spoken- _you’ve_ spoken to him?”

“I’d have to live at the Manor, Draco. Of course I’ve spoken to him.”

His brows rose. “You’re serious about this?”

“I put in for transfer to the Department of Mysteries last week. The Minister has been aware of what Blaise is doing, so I suspect the request will be granted within the month.”

At his continued expression of surprise, she said, “You’ve meant the world to me since that night in the garden- at the Zabini engagement. Regardless of how we raise our child, I’d love to have you here to do it.”

“Hermione,” Draco said, and she wanted to believe she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. His gaze was intoxicating, dark and focused on her. “Would you consider joining me for dinner?”

She laughed, drawing her hand through her curls. “Yes, Draco,” she told him. “I’d love to join you for dinner.”

As a grin spread across his face, Hermione wished that she could touch him, every inch of her suddenly aware of his lack of presence. But, as she watched him press his palm to the painting, she felt her heart warm. And it was okay- for now, at least.

“Tonight. 7 o’clock.”

“Tonight,” she agreed, pressing her palm to his. “7 o’clock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next.....epilogue. *creepily taps fingers together at my desk*


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally posted in full on my tumblr [honeyweeds](honeyweeds.tumblr.com), a few weeks ago. I have a number of other fics posted there as well, if you want to check them out. You can also just come say hi/request things/etc.
> 
> I've enjoyed reading your comments as we got through this. Hopefully you enjoy the way it ends ❤️

“Hey,” Hermione murmured, a soft smile on her face as she joined Lucius on the morning patio. She squeezed his shoulder as she passed him to sit down, kicking her feet up on the edge of the table.

“Have you slept?” He questioned, pouring her a cup of tea. “It’s mint,” he told her as he handed it over.

“Have you?” Hermione countered after taking a sip.

He leaned back, blue eyes watching as she settled the teacup atop her rounded belly. “I got a few hours in.”

Hermione hummed in recognition. “Me, too. I was hoping to talk to Draco again, but they’ve already moved him.”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I was awake for that.”

“Are you nervous?”

“For you,” he quickly told her, but she understood it was for a lot more, too. “How are you feeling?”

“Hopeful. Pansy and Blaise’s projections seem sound. Ron and I went over the numbers yesterday afternoon-”

“Yes,” Lucius agreed. “I looked at them last night while I was talking with Draco.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, both drinking their tea and attempting to enjoy the last few hours they had to themselves. The Manor would be swarming with Department of Mysteries officials come sunrise, and Merlin only knew what would happen  _after_.

As she let her head fall back on the chair, she watched the sky with unseeing eyes. It’d been over a year since they’d started working on Blaise’s theory, and it felt incredible to finally be at the end. They only had one opportunity to get it right, but she didn’t doubt that they would. She refused to consider what it meant if they didn’t.

“I know you’re worried,” she said softly, turning her gaze on him.

“Man cannot make life without taking it, Hermione.”

“Which is part of the reason we chose today. The veil is thinnest.”

“There are circumstances even magic cannot change. What we’re doing…your presence it not required for this,” he countered. “You don’t have to be here.”

“I can’t be anywhere else, Lucius.”

He swallowed, the thick sound of it seeming to ring in her ears.

“If I believed that it would put the child in danger, I wouldn’t stay. They mean too much.”

His gaze fell to her stomach, nearly seven months swollen, and Hermione found herself rubbing it protectively. After a moment, he said, “Forgive me my fears. I know you would not endanger your child, Hermione.”

“A hell of a lot more than just mine,” she admitted. “Draco’s, sure,” she continued with a fond smile. “But, yours, too. Everyone who has been involved with this project. This baby is bigger than just me.” After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Especially if it doesn’t work. If he or she  _looks_  like a Malfoy-”

She broke off with a nervous laugh, leaning forward to put her cup on the table.

“You’ve nothing to fear,” Lucius told her firmly. His gaze was sure, willing her to understand, and she nodded to show that she did. “We take care of our own, my dear.”

Hermione offered him a smile before looking back at the sky, her eyes suddenly landing on a bright star. “Merlin,” she sat up. “Is that Venus?”

Lucius casted a  _Tempus_  before saying, “It is.”

“That we’re both here to see it is a sign.”

He looked over at her, gaze curious. “You know, they consider it the morning star.”

“The morning star,” Hermione repeated, recalling her astrology lessons.

“In case you have a girl,” he continued. At her surprised expression, he said, “Few and far between in our family. But, miracles have been known to happen.

“You and I are sitting here, after all. My grandchild in your womb. To continue with his family tradition in an untraditional way seems more than appropriate.”

Hermione grinned, and so did Lucius, the drawn look his face lifting for the moment.

“We’re both here to see her, after all,” he agreed, looking up at the sky. “Goddess of fertility, prosperity, victory,” he continued, voice introspective but sure.

She continued to smile softly, hand reaching out for his in the dark. It was an ordinary gesture, but it wasn’t normal, and it surprised her when he took it. Her eyes fell closed, the warmth from his hand and her tea spreading over her.

The last she heard before drifting off was an assuring, “A light at the end…at the start,” and she was sure that when day finally broke, it would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading ❤️


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